The great Gimboland move has begun in earnest – I’ve just started the process of transferring my domain registrations out to a holding space, which shouldn’t cause any disruption. Early next week, when that’s settled, I’ll repoint the name servers to Webquarry, and hopefully that’ll be smooth too. But you never know, so…

Black widows turn up in Tesco grapes. It seems that a reduction in the use of pesticides is allowing them to slip through the net. This is great: increasing envrionmental friendliness brings back some of the unwanted elements previously eliminated by our environmental unfriendliness. Are we willing to pay the price? The lady with the kiddies and the grapes says no, apparently.

For the past two years, my synths, sampler, mixer, etc. have languished unused while the studio reverted to its true state of a bedroom. Now that we’re leaving the flat (cleaning this week to be out on Saturday) and moving into the house, I feel the itch returning. I’ve also got a shiny new computer on its way and have discovered that since the last time I looked, Linux audio has come a long way (eg, check out ardour).

Increasingly incompetent developers are creeping their way into important projects. Considering that most good programmers are pretty bad at security, bad programmers with roles in important projects are guaranteed to doom the world to oblivion. The author feels that a step toward washing himself clean of responsibility is by writing this document. Checking your memcpy() and malloc() calls have been lectured to death. It’s not working. The approach used by this document is to instead shame developers into producing better systems.

…If something like Windows plays any part at all in your system design, you should probably give up now. Despite being closed source, holes are discovered constantly. The Windows system is also far too massive, complex, and user unfriendly for human beings to have any hope in securing it.

…You say you’re a gifted programmer who can handle pointers like an artisan? Great. Tell that to the other 50,000 gifted programmers who write shit. Shit that can endanger businesses, careers, lives, etc. When the revolution comes, your kind will be the first against the wall. Use a high level language.

We saw Monsoon Wedding last night – most pleasant. The dialogue, a mix of Hindi and English, was incredibly hard to follow for the first five or ten minutes, until you got used to it. The Hindi was fine, because there were subtitles – but I’ve never heard English spoken so quickly! :-)

Interesting… I’d always thought of the Second Severn Crossing as just another suspension bridge (like the first one), but it is in fact a “cable-stayed” bridge. I think I always had a dull realisation in my mind that it was unlike other suspension bridges I’d crossed, but in that zen-like state we all drive in, I never really thought hard enough about it. *shrug*

Also, the revolutionary AK-mp3 – a portable mp3 player in the clip of an AK-47. “This is our bit for World Peace. Hopefully, from now on many Militants and Terrorists will use their AK47s to listen to music and audio books?They need to chill out and take it easy.”

Last May we set off from the Cape of Good Hope, and spent much of the time limping because James injured his ankle early on.

After eight months and 2,000 km on the road, we came back to England to get it checked out, only to find that walking on it had made it worse and worse. So we’ve had to take a year out while he recovers from surgery.

“…only to find that walking on it had made it worse and worse”? No shit, Sherlock. Still, good luck and all that.

Thousands of Iraqi soldiers, some of them alive and firing their weapons from World War I-style trenches, were buried by plows mounted on Abrams main battle tanks. The Abrams flanked the trench lines so that tons of sand from the plow spoil funneled into the trenches. Just behind the tanks, actually straddling the trench line, came M2 Bradleys pumping 7.62mm machine gun bullets into the Iraqi troops.

“I came through right after the lead company,” said Army Col. Anthony Moreno, who commanded the lead brigade during the 1st Mech’s assault. “What you saw was a bunch of buried trenches with people’s arms and legs sticking out of them. For all I know, we could have killed thousands.”

I’m thinking about infra-red control for my home PC. Specifically, I want the PC in one room, running xmms, and an IR receiver in another room in the house (where the music will actually play). The Linux Infrared Remote Control project tells me I should be able to get this controller to work, which would be neato, ‘cos it’s only about 20 euros.

When you’re rock climbing (which, alas, I’ve only done on indoor walls so far – but very good indoor walls at that), there are basically two ways you can fall.

The first way is when you know you can’t hold on any longer and that you’re going to fall, so you warn your belayer and they take up the slack in the rope. I’d call this a controlled fall, and in the best of these, you basically don’t move anywhere – you can just let go of the wall and stay where you are. I’ve had many of these.

The other way is when you’re making a move and you fail – your foot slips, your grip isn’t strong enough, or you just miss the hold. In this case, because you’re moving there’s usually got to be some slack in the rope, and the belayer hasn’t been warned so you end up falling further as the slack is taken up and the rope stretches a bit – you might descend a few feet, and possibly swing across the wall, depending on how far off the centre line you are. I’ve also had quite a few these by now, but only while top-roping.

Now, top-roping is when you have a rope running from you (the climber) up to the top of the wall, through a fixed point, and back down to the belayer, who takes up the slack as you ascend, then lowers you from the top. It’s a good way to start climbing, but “the real deal” is leading, where there’s no rope attached to the wall at the start, and you clip yourself into protection on the way up. Until you’ve got the first clip in, you’re on your own, and if you fall, you’re in free fall – and because you have to climb past your protection, it’s often impossible for the belayer to take up slack in such a way that you could have a controlled fall as described above – at least, not without you climbing back below your protection before letting go.

Anyway, I was leading for maybe the eighth or ninth time in my short climbing career, and I’d just clipped in to the first bolt on the wall, about ten feet up I guess. I was starting to move up to the next one, passing the clip and off to the right, but my left foot wasn’t well placed. I could tell it wasn’t right, but didn’t see where it should have been until I tried again later. I reached up for my next hold, and the foot slipped off the wall. The next thing I knew, I was dangling with my feet about eighteen inches off the ground, having swung across the wall and down, crashing into Malcolm, belaying me, on the way – he’d been pulled into the wall as I fell.

All in all, it was as good a fall as I could have expected. I didn’t hit the ground (thanks Malc!) and apart from a grazed elbow I was unhurt. We both laughed for a bit, mainly in surprise, then Malc lowered me to the ground and I started again. I thought I’d have lost my nerve but it was OK, and I finished the climb.

I’m sure it’ll be the first of many. I just wanted to note its passing here.

Of course, in addition to helping Jihad, driving a fashionable Sport Utility Vehicle confers many social advantages upon a Brother, especially in infidel lands where the SUV is widely regarded as an indication of wealth and prestige. Indeed, Allah may well see fit to bless an SUV-driving Brother with supplicating maidens even before his rendezvous with Paradise.

And so it was that our brave adventurers, Sir Andy and Lady Jala, once again sallied forth unto the magical land of Ikea, there to seek good cheap furniture, and to do battle with the crushing hordes of others stupid or busy enough to go on a Saturday. Hope and fortitude were plentiful in their hearts, for they knew what they were after, yea, and they had the van with them.

Their first obstacle, they bested easily. They spoke unto the Guardian of the Sofas and arranged that his minions would deliver their chosen items unto The Nut House, our heroes’ dwelling, struggling under their weight in exchange for a princely sum. All had gone well with this deal, and though the crowds of strolling fools were great about them, they sallied forth in the knowledge that their quest must end well, for they had phoned ahead and checked that their remaining quarry was in stock.

They took their time through the remaining glens and valleys of that fair land, content for the moment to drift downstream with the current about them, whilst keeping their eyes open for a nice waste paper bin. In due course they entered the lower Market Realm, and marvelled at the gadgetry about them, and though such gadgetry was not the intent of their quest, they readily picked up a few handy bits. For it is the way with gadgetry, that though you know it not until you see it, you cannot live without it.

At last they came unto the Warehouse, that vast hall wherein may be found gathered together all the truly wondrous Ikean artifacts. They sought Aisle Twentysix, and lo – there it was before them, and there, on Shelf Nineteen, lay The Forsbyan Dining Table of Stoutness. Their glee was great, for at the end of their last quest in these quarters, the table had been sadly lacking from their treasure. Truly they stood in the Aisle of Plenty, and gladness was in their hearts, for only the Sixfold Rebeckan Chairs remained to be found, and having phoned ahead our adventurers were confident that the chairs could not escape them.

Alas! The chairs were nowhere to be seen, when shortly thereafter was found Aisle Twentyeight, Shelf Eight, their appointed place. Our heroes’ consternation was great, for it seemed that all their preparation and endeavour had come to naught, and that they would, after all, have to return to that place next week. Their hearts were heavy at this prospect, for though the land of Ikea is full of wondrous things, it lay far from their come in Carmarthenshire, and they had other stuff they really needed to be getting on with. Lady Jala wailed and gnashed her teeth, and only Sir Andy’s calming words prevented her from smiting down the Guardian of Aisle Twentyeight immediately, though the blame lay not with him.

The heroes conferred as to what should be done next. It seemed they had no option but to return another time and hope for better chance, but then Sir Andy remembered the bargain they had struck with the Guardian of the Sofas. Perhaps a similar bargain might be reached, which would see the Sixfold Rebeckan Chairs delivered unto their own land without further effort upon our adventurers’ parts? Indeed, since the Guardians of the Warehouse and the Dining departments served the same overlord as the Guardian of the Sofas, might not the Chairs be attached to the same order? This plan seemed good, and so Lady Jala stood guard over the treasures already gained, whilst Sir Andy sallied forth to speak with the Guardian of the Warehouse with their hopeful proposition.

Now, Sir Andy was generally, by nature, a gentle and reasonable man, particularly when accompanied by the fiesty Lady Jala, whose anger could be great, and upon whom he oftentimes called himself to act as a calming influence. And so he spoke to the Guardian of the Warehouse full of cheer and good humour, and received the news that no, he would need to speak to the Goblins of Home Delivery about that mate, with calm and hopefulness. Before returning to his companion, he asked the Guardian to check that the Sixfold Chairs were indeed absent, and was surprised to learn that according to the Great Computer, their should be Fourteenfold Rebecka Chairs in that place.

“Is the shelf empty?”, said the Guardian?

“Indeed it is, Sir”, replied our champion.

“Then the shelf is empty.”

With those words ringing in his ears, Sir Andy returned to his Lady – and alas that he did not pursue that point further with the Guardian there and then, for much painful battle might have been averted. But it is the way with such moments, that they pass us by before we realise, and it is only time and reflection which leads us to know their importance at last, too late for any action.

They crossed the barrier of the Tills, fighting their way through the hordes until they reached the quiet haven wherein lay the Home Delivery and its Goblin Horde, where they waited a short time while the Chief Goblin listened to the entreaties of another weary traveller. In time they had their say, and were dismayed to learn that in fact the ones who could help them would be the Priestesses of that most mystical sect, Customer Services, and to see a Priestess they needs must take a ticket and wait their turn.

A ticket they took, and their turn they awaited, and all the while Sir Andy told Lady Jala to remain calm and that surely they would have satisfaction now, for if the Priestesses of Customer Services could not help them, yea, who could? Lady Jala poured not a little scorn upon Sir Andy’s entreaties, as she is wont to do at such times, but Sir Andy knew that this was simply the Cosmic Balance at work, made manifest in that eternal struggle called love, and inwardly he was glad so see her spoiling for a fight, believing as he did that a little “good cop bad cop” might be a fearsome weapon against their adversaries, should the struggle take a turn for the worse.

In due course their number was called, and they approached the Priestess, as she sat at her alter, before the Great Computer. Our heroes were a little dismayed, for they had hoped to meet one of Great Veneration, and yet the first flush of youth was still upon this Priestess’s cheeks. Their fears, alas, were soon realised. Sir Andy explained that they sought the Sixfold Rebecka Chairs, and those items being absent from the Warehouse, they were hopeful that the Chairs might be attached unto their order that Sofas be delivered unto their home. Or, if such an attachment were impossible, perhaps the order for the Sofas might be torn up, and replaced with a new order containing both the Sofas and the Chairs. Surely all comers will agree that such ideas were entirely reasonable, and exactly the kind of thing that a Priestess of Customer Services, with her Great Computer before her, ought to be able to do without a moment’s thought. Alas, the Priestess was ignorant as to the feasability of their request, and sought assistance from others of her house. Sir Andy was dismayed to hear her relay their entreaty less than faithfully, for she made it known that they wished to cancel their order, or failing that, attach the Chairs to it – whereas the opposite was in fact true – but no matter, for in fact, whilst such a thing might indeed be possible, it was not in the power of the Priestess to grant it. Instead our heroes must travel back to the realm of Sofas, there to entreat upon the Guardian to extend the order they had earlier placed in his care.

At this point in our story a subtle shift starts to occur, as Sir Andy’s calm demeanour starts to slip and be replaced by incredulity at the inabilities of the Ikean system. For if it is possible to conjure forth such an end through the Great Computer in the realm of Sofas, then surely the Priestesses of Customer Service, whose task is to maintain Customer Satisfaction in the face of Imperilled Shopping Experience, should have that capability also? After all, are not their Great Computers but windows unto an all-pervading Majestic Computer connecting all the realms of Ikea together? This, mused Sir Andy, is what you get when you use VMS.

The brave and by now weary adventurers left that place of disappointment, and hurried back to the realm of Sofas, pausing only to pick up a Customer Feedback form upon which to vent their anger. At their arrival where earlier they had stood with such hope and energy, they accosted the Guardian and made plain their desires, with such grave expressions as could not fail but to convey the seriousness of this matter. Hope, which springs eternal, sprang forth once again as the Guardian told them that yes, he could indeed do that for them, and would do so immediately. Yet just as hope springs eternal, so too is the way of the adventurer strewn with cowpats from The Devil’s Own Satanic Herd, and it was the Guardian’s unenviable task to relay the sad news that because the Sixfold Chairs of Rebecka are lacking a mystical property known as a lead time, it is impossible to order them to be delivered to your home at a later date. Indeed, he said, the only way to achieve such an end is to actually find them in the Warehouse, take them from the Shelf upon which they lay, and hie them to the Goblins of Home Delivery.

It has already been remarked upon that Sir Andy’s demeanour had begun to slip. At this point, it is fair to say, it lay in shattered pieces at his feet, his face turned red, and nails of iron began to issue from his mouth at the poor Guardian. A rare moment indeed, for it was then Lady Jala’s turn to take Sir Andy by the arm and urge restraint, for once again, the Guardian was not himself at fault. The Guardian gave them one glimmer of hope: travel once again (“Ah! The runaround!”, quoth Sir Andy) to the realm of Dining wherein lay the home of the Sixfold Chairs, and ask the Great Guardian of Dining for assistance, for perhaps in his power he might be able to cause an exception to be made.

With heavy hearts, and wondering whether other chairs might be acceptable to them, our questing heroes made the unwelcome journey to Dining, there to seek such assistance. The Great Guardian was readily identified by his confident and controlling manner, but immediately dashed their hopes of such an arrangement, saying that without a lead time, it would be unutterably impossible, and though Sir Andy might stand there unto his last day lamenting the failings of the situation, it could not change.

However. The Great Guardian took no small interest in their tale of the things that had occurred in the Warehouse, and the fact that the Great Computer said there should be Fourteenfold Rebecka Chairs upon the Shelf. It was, he said, entirely possible that the chairs were present, but not where they should by rights be, and if the weary travellers would but wait one moment, he would take hidden paths to the Warehouse realm, there to seek them out. Three minutes, maximum.

Our heroes waited in that realm for him to return, all the time espying other chairs that might serve to end their quest that day, but pained in their hearts at the prospect, for none seemed so lovely to their eye (or their rear end) as the Rebecka. And here our tale takes its final turn, and a glad one at that, for the Great Guardian returned with the happy news that the Chairs were indeed there, having been mislaid, and that he had set aside a Sixfold bundle for the completion of their quest, which could be collected on Aisle One. And there was much rejoicing.

They ventured once again into the realm of the Warehouse, sought and found their chairs in Aisle One, and finally returned to Aisle Twentyeight, that scence of earlier devestation, there to collect their other treasures. Upon the way, they amused each other with tales of how, in their absence, some rogue had undoubtedly come across their unguarded treasure and taken it for their own, rendering the quest incomplete, and so they were glad indeed to find that this had not taken place, and the treasure was safe.

They took their place at the Till crossing, paid the toll, loaded their treasures unto their mighty steed Astravan, and set forth from that place, vowing not to return any time soon. Little did they realise that once they had assembled that little table lamp picked up as an afterthought, they would desire at least one more, maybe two, and so, as is the way with men who are slaves to their lust, seal their own fates. But that will be another tale, for another day.

Now, I’m moving the site (and the trek site) to a different hosting service (probably WebQuarry) some time during the next three weeks, at which point the count would have to start from zero again. Furthermore, some people think hit counters are a bad idea anyway, and to be honest I think they have a point (in fact I’d agree with everything on that page, pretty much). It’s been interesting to watch the counter tick up (and accelerate – w00t) over time, but I could get the same information and more accurately by other means.

Thus, I’ve decided to drop the hit counter from this moment on. If you feel a gaping hole in your heart and need to watch something counting, you could do worse than the prime number shitting bear [rivets]. For some reason mine is stuck on 2. Heh – number twos. *snigger*

I was born with a condition that makes it difficult for me to recognize faces. There is a small part of the brain that is dedicated to that job, and though it is small, when it comes to recognizing faces, it is very very good. In me, that part doesn’t work, making me blind to all but the most familiar of faces.

…a Willy Wonkonian world with chocolate rivers, candy flowers, and schnozberry flavored wallpaper.…the riches to come.…ripping the whole thing up and using the substantial space to build a snowflex fun park similar to the Sheffield masterpiece he helped create.…a day when he can surf on the moon.…a large party with all his friends and a bottomless keg.…leopards.…getting out of jail.…being spanked by Anna Kournikova.

Telemarketers make use of a telescript – a guideline for a telephone conversation. This script creates an imbalance in the conversation between the marketer and the consumer. It is this imbalance, most of all, that makes telemarketing successful. The EGBG Counterscript attempts to redress that balance.

House news: the living room ceiling is nearly done! I finished sanding it on Sunday, then had to mask off the beams ready for painting. I’m not spending every night at the house yet, so yesterday evening saw me putting the finishing touches to the masking, as Julie got to work with a long-handled paint roller. In no time at all, the first coat was basically complete, except for some “cutting in” with a small brush.

It’s somewhat vexing that I spent so long sanding these boards down only to have Julie come along and just go “lah-de-dah, tum-de-dum, slap-slap-slap, oh look – the ceiling’s painted!”. Of course, it was then Muggins who got to stand on the stepladder, cutting in, which still isn’t quite finished – plus we’ll probably do another coat at the weekend. I figure it will have taken about twenty-four hours of work in total. Crazy. I’m sure someone a little less perfectionist and pernickety could probably have done it in half the time, but hey, that’s the way it goes in Gimboland.

Oh yes – I almost forgot the exciting part. It hadn’t occurred to me to wear goggles while I was painting. Alas for that, because while I was cutting in, I managed to drop a largish blob of white paint into my left eye, to my great surprise and consternation. I managed to get off the stepladder and stumble into the hallway, calling for Julie, who was in the next room sorting out books, as I went. She took my hand and led me up the stairs to the bathroom so I could wash it out with water.

At this point I should probably, like Douglas Adams in The Hitch Hiker’s Guide, assure my audience of the ultimate safety and happiness of our hero. I’m sure you’re all very concerned about my eyesight, but rest easy: the paint was a water-based matt vinyl emulsion and can be – and was – washed out without harm. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

Now, the most enjoyable part was certainly just after I’d slapped some water on it a few times. This had had the effect of washing most of the paint away, but when I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw thick streaks of paint down my nose and cheek, and a kind of floating haze of white paint shimmering all over my left eyeball – all seen through a whitish mist, of course. This was the first time Julie had got a good look (my head was bowed as she led me upstairs), and I believe her reaction was something along the lines of “fucking hell”. It really did look rather cool.

I continued to rinse my eye and my face until it was mostly gone, then washed my hands thoroughly and we both had a good look at the eyeball. There were quite a few tiny white stringy speckles to be extracted, but nothing too bad. The only pain I felt was a result of Julie pulling my eyelids around a little overenthusiastically – the paint itself caused no pain or even discomfort, just lots of whiteness.

We consulted the tin, and it said to rinse well with water and seek medical assistance. We considered this last piece of advice gravely. On the one hand, eyesight is not something to be trifled with, and if that’s what it says on the tin, maybe there’s a good reason for them saying that. On the other hand, they probably have to say that to cover themselves, don’t they, and if I go to casualty I’ll probably be sat around waiting for two hours in order for somebody to just wash my eye out with sterile water instead of tap water. Which of the hands was to be believed?

There was only one thing for it: we consulted a higher authority, ie Julie’s Dad, who is wise in the ways of building and decoration (and who, by the by, has been unutterably fantastic in helping us sort out the house in more ways than I can mention here without turning this into Andy’s DIY blog, which it is veering dangerously close to anyway). Gladly, George assured us that he’d done the same thing “hundreds of times” and that as long as we washed it out well and it wasn’t hurting, it should be just fine. If it had been gloss, he said, it would be another matter: for a start it would have been burning with pain and we’d probably have not bothered calling him – straight to casualty – but matt vinyl emulsion is a friendlier beast.

Joy! I got back to it, taking greater care not to place my head directly underneath the roving paintbrush. So far, so good.

The general consensus among election officials and voters seems to be that the all-electronic machines are a great improvement, relatively easy to use, and inherently able to prevent overvotes. The general consensus among knowledgeable computer security experts seems to be that almost all of the existing all-electronic systems could relatively easily be rigged by internal fraud in the software and external manipulation of the local polling-place configurations and could also be subject to undetected internal errors, because of an almost complete absence of meaningful audit trails and independent verification of the consistency of votes tabulated with votes cast. Just because an all-electronic machine looks like it might be working, how do you *KNOW* it is doing the right thing? From a RISKS perspective, a perceived potential lack of integrity is a serious obstacle to democracy.

This is a public apology for wishing my brother a happy birthday two days late. At least he got his pressie in time. His birthday and the mothership’s are on adjacent days, and whilst I can remember when hers is, I always get confused if his is the day before or the day after. Ah well, in future years, all I need to do is refer to Gimboland, I guess!

StarLogo is a programmable modeling environment for exploring the workings of decentralized systems — systems that are organized without an organizer, coordinated without a coordinator. With StarLogo, you can model (and gain insights into) many real-life phenomena, such as bird flocks, traffic jams, ant colonies, and market economies.

Right now the emissions of one American are equal to about 19 Indians and about 45 Chinese. [The Chinese] are saying that if you want to talk about this, just realize that we use about 10 percent of the energy you Americans do. That’s where it plays out. It’s not resentment that we have wealth but it’s what we do with our wealth.

Half of humanity lives on less than $2 per day, but this is at a time that because of television, the poor — for the first time in human history — really do understand how well the rich live. They are not going to continue to accept their impoverished status. Somehow over these next 50 to 100 years, those people will rise up. They are going to escape poverty one way or another. The great challenge facing our civilization globally is how we accommodate that.

If we keep going with the American model — and I mean the entire high-consumption model — we’re fried. There’s no way that we can escape severe climate change and all of the disasters that come with that. That’s where the resentment does come from. If we were really serious about being a global leader, that’s where we would be putting our energy.

That’s the fundamental problem — we don’t want to listen. We want to tell. We’re so used to being the big boys. The arrogant person never knows they’re arrogant and that’s the problem with our official stance in the world.

I have fond childhood memories of my parents’ teasmade, which sat on a bedside table on the mothership’s side, and which went from striking me as terribly advanced and technical, to striking me as terribly quaint and whimsical as time passed and I grew older. Such is the way with many “mod cons”, I suppose – which is good for those of us who surf the internet for post-ironic kitsch.

(By thw way, thank you Shauny, for introducing me to the term “mothership” in this context. My Mum hates to be called “mother”, but hopefully Android can get away with calling her the mothership, though I haven’t remembered to do so in person – yet.)

(Also, apologies for using the term “post-ironic”. No, I don’t know what it means either.)

Great Wall fans: check out their pictures of the Huanghua section, which are really rather good – as is most of their travelogue, to be honest. This is the section of “wild” (ie reconstructed) wall which we tackled on the third day of our trek (four months after Mark and family). To my shame, I haven’t uploaded my own photos of this section yet – yes, a year later – but these are a lovely reminder. Check out the panorama which Mark took at the point where we turned off to the right and descended through orchards back to the road. The section seen in the panorama was deemed too dangerous for our group – even for the hardcore. That steep downward slope, whose hairiness I could only glimpse from afar can be well appreciated in this superb shot.

I long to go back, and to tackle this section. I long to go back, full stop. Anthony Feasey at the National Star Centrehad told me he was running a wild wall trek in 2003 which would take us there, but the website (thegreatwall.co.uk) is “somewhat sparse”. I should drop him an email – except he’s probably in China right now on this year’s trek, the lucky git.

Disclosure of the meetings in October in Washington – confirmed by an INC spokesman – comes as Lord Browne, the head of BP, has warned that British oil companies have been squeezed out of post-war Iraq even before the first shot has been fired in any US- led land invasion.

It is desperately sad for me to sit here, 57 years old, and contemplate how often wasteful are the deaths of those in the rock industry. We find it so hard to save our own, but must take responsibility for the fact that the message such deaths as Cobain’s sends to his fans is that it is in some way heroic to scream at the world, thrash a guitar, smash it up and then overdose.

Read this book to see that the human spirit, even at its most sublime, can effect monumental damage on itself and its fellow souls if addiction enters the story. I mourn for Kurt. A once beautiful, then pathetic, lost and heroically stupid boy. Hard rock indeed.

“Pathetic” isn’t a word you often see used in conjunction with Cobain, but it’s a good summary of how I’ve felt about him for a long time.

Which is worse? [wotever]. Nice idea, but that interface totally sucks. I want to be able to vote on many polls at once, and I hate it when websites insist on opening new windows. It’s rude and unnecessary. I will tell my browser when I want it to open a new window. Not you: me. Sigh… If only.

I usually have popups disabled in Opera, but then you get a site like this that doesn’t work without popups enabled, so I enable it, then forget and don’t turn them off again until I go somewhere that bombards me with adverts. Aaaargh.

IP Personality – The Linux IP Personality patch adds to your Linux 2.4 kernel the ability to have different ‘personalities’ network wise, that is to change some characteristics of its network traffic, depending on different parameters (anything you can specify in an iptables rule: src/dst IP address, TCP or UDP port, etc.)

…The primary objective of this patch is to counter network fingerprinting techniques, as described in Fyodor’s article. Fyodor is the author of nmap, the famous port scanner that has a powerful remote OS detection engine. IP Personality can fool current versions of nmap, and is very configurable, so that it can probably fool any similar tool. The patch allows one to emulate the behaviour of any system listed in nmap’s list of OS fingerprints.

Bloody busy weekend… Living room ceiling is sanded, most of the (vast quantity of) dust is gone, and the beams are masked ready for painting. I’m knackered. :-)

Julie and Heather honed their flatpack skills so we now have one room in the house which is comfortably habitable – an inner sanctum of peace, very important for our sanity I think.

The plumber’s coming tomorrow. Initially this was just to fit another tap in the kitchen for a dishwasher, but since then we’ve discovered that there’s no pressure to one of the hot taps upstairs, another hot tap upstairs just will not turn, and the pipes under the kitchen sink are simply insane, including a clever t-piece with an opening at the top so you can conveniently flood the cupboard by pouring water down the sink! The house is basically great but there are so many of these little bits of insanity that I wonder how anyone actually lived there. Worst of all, the fish on the bathroom tiles are upside down. The whole room’s going to have to be ripped out! (Just kidding – or am I?)

The neighbours popped round on Saturday evening with a card and some wine, and yesterday I plucked up the courage to borrow a screwdriver. So far, so good. No card from my Mum yet, but she can probably be excused because I hadn’t actually told her the address. ;-)

…the generating force of the house …one of america’s preeminent folklorists …really keen to attack the bowler in this picture as he is at least half way down the wicket chasing a most tremendous wide only to …her name …best reached by email …one of the authors of the official history of canadian participation in the war against iraq …the new 1st vice …married and lives on the isle of bute …etnograaf

We spent our first night at our new house last night. It was very quiet and peaceful (well, once I stopped sanding – half way there!). :-) The trip to work this morning took an hour and a quarter, which isn’t too bad – I only need to do it for the next month then I’m starting my new job and it’ll be more like fifty minutes. Yawn.